


What You Say You Are

by wordyanansi



Series: Tumblr Prompts [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some battles are more deadly than others, and when it comes down to it, Bellamy's not ready to have this thing unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Say You Are

**Author's Note:**

> So... I'm a huge fan of Benedict Jacka's Alex Verus series, and my friend Ann Marie suggested I do a bit of a fusion with The 100, which is how this happened. Alex Verus has a very Harry Dresden vibe, for context, but basically you only get one type of magic. And there's basically mages who specialise in types of elemental magic (fire, water, ice, etc), mages who specialise in minds (mind mages, charm mages (focus on emotional influence), probability mages (Diviners, chance mages), and life/death mages. And three broad camps. Light Mages, Dark Mages, and Independents. And Adepts can only do one spell. Bla bla bla all you really need to know is the Clarke is a diviner (seeing the probable future) and Bellamy is an enchanter (emotion magic).

In some ways, they’ve been preparing for this raid since the beginning. But it’s only been in the last couple of weeks that it has seemed achievable. Clarke’s been collecting adepts and apprentices for eighteen months, rescuing them from dark mages who use them as slaves, or just from the streets. She collected Bellamy and his sister six months ago, right in the middle of a battle from their former master he thought they were going to lose. But this one… The Mount Weather faction of Dark Mages have been keeping nearly one hundred adepts and dark apprentices as part of a slave trade, and thanks to their latest addition, Maya, they were going to bring it down. It’s not like every mission has good odds, but there was something final about this one. Do or die trying. And it’s not been sitting well with Bellamy, having things unsaid between them for a while now. And they’re half an hour from splitting up to gate out, her team taking the front entrance, and his taking the rear. They’re just about ready to leave the room Clarke had turned into an office… and that he’d kind of ended up sharing in the past couple of months as he’d grown closer to her.

 

“Clarke, I have to… I want you to know something, before we do this,” Bellamy begins, and he’s surprised when she cuts him off.

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Bellamy,” Clarke tells him sharply, stepping backwards. Bellamy tenses his jaw in frustration.

“Why not?” he asks, his voice tight and restrained, and Clarke sighs, her shoulders slumping forward.

“Because this conversation ends in you angry and frustrated and me in tears,” she offers. “And I don’t want… I just- I’m not going to have this conversation with you right now. We’ve got other stuff to worry about.” She’s imploring him with her eyes, but he’s not having it. It takes all the restraint he can muster not to punch the wall.

“God damn it, Clarke. You’re a probability mage. I know we all walk around calling you a diviner and trusting your versions of the future, but you also know you can change it. So I’m going to need a better reason than ‘this conversation ends badly’ because it’s going to unless you change it. And you can change it, we can change it,” he tells her. And he wishes his voice didn’t sound so desperate, but it’s not like this conversation is one he hasn’t tried to have… or rather, it’s not like he hasn’t wanted to have this conversation with her. It’s not enough, anymore, this what if and one day. Because they’re walking it to yet another battle and he doesn’t think he’ll forgive himself he never says it. Clarke’s looking at him, like she’s trying to work him out. He smiles a little, because from day one he’s felt like she can see right through him.

“I don’t want to wreck this,” she says, finally, her voice tight and small, gesturing to the space between them.

“Then don’t let it,” Bellamy says, taking a step forward. She doesn’t back away, and he takes it as a victory. Clarke’s pupils dilate and he knows she’s looking forward, checking the futures for one that she likes and figuring out how to make it happen, and he grabs her hand, pulling her out of it. She starts, looking first down to their joined hands and then up into his eyes.

“Just have this conversation with me, now, in the present, and we’ll deal with the rest later,” Bellamy says, his voice soft. Clarke tilts her chin forward slightly, and it’s enough.

“You changed everything,” Bellamy begins, because he’s not entirely sure how else to begin. “And it started when you and Wells picked us out of that factory, mid battle. I thought I was going to die, and then there you were, gating us out. I thought I’d never be able to trust anyone again, never really feel safe again… but I do, here, and it’s because of you.” He swallows thickly, and he’s not exactly sure why he thought this conversation would be any easier than this. He feels sick, and he wishes that she hadn’t said this ends badly. Because now he’s wondering how he’s going to fuck it up. He knows there’s an out, a simple thank you and walk away. But he’s come this far… And Clarke’s looking up at him, her face unreadable as ever.

“You’re not what I expected… at all. Ever. And you’re kind of…,” Bellamy loses the words, because they feel cliche and trite and he wonders how he ever managed to get laid before this because he seems to have zero game all of a sudden, and he seems to remember that not being the case. Ah. His brain supplies the answer. His charm magic. He’s not using it on her, and he never would. And suddenly he realises that’s what she’s afraid of, that’s why it ends badly. Because she thinks he’s not genuine, and the shock of that makes him drop her hand and step backwards.

“I would never, ever use my magic on you,” he tells her quietly. “And if that’s what you’re going to believe, maybe you’re right, and we shouldn’t have this conversation yet.” Clarke folds her arms across her chest.

“And you just figured that out, all on your own? No magic involved?” Clarke asks, her voice tart. Bellamy looks her dead in the eye, his face set.

“Yes, actually, I did. I get it, I do. Most mages don’t like mind mages, life mages, enchanters, and diviners. I just kind of figured you wouldn’t be one of them. Or that you’d trust me. But you clearly don’t,” he manages to keep his voice level, but the revelation rips at him. And he understands why the future showed him as angry. It’s been six months. Six months they’ve been living in the mansion together, looking after the adepts and apprentices together. Working together. Going on missions together. Cooking side by side in the kitchen, laughing, sniping at each other about shit that doesn’t even really matter. Because all the time he’s been falling in love, she’s kept herself guarded because she doesn’t trust him. Angry? You bet he is. But then he remembers his mother’s voice: Anger is a secondary emotion, Bell, what’s the first one? He’s been staring at the ground and he back up at Clarke, who hasn’t moved, and he realises it’s hurt. She doesn’t look like she’s near tears.

“What is it?” she asks. Bellamy shakes his head, licks his lips, and decides he’s going to tell her anyway. Because that was the point. Not to get a happy ending, not to get the girl, a girl he figured he’d never deserve anyway. No, it was just to tell her.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m in love with you, Clarke. That you make me better and you’re incredible. Not because I expect anything from you, or anything to change, I just wanted you to know. Just in case,” he tells her. Her mouth opens slightly, and then it closes, and she swallows. He sighs.

“I’m not angry or frustrated. I’m hurt. Because it’s not that you don’t feel the same way, or that you do, it’s that you don’t trust me,” Bellamy tells her. “So I don’t… Whatever. Good luck.” He turns his back and walks away. At least it’s said, he thinks.

“Wait,” Clarke calls out, and he stops, his hand reaching for the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn. “I don’t… I don’t think you’d use your magic on me.” Bellamy licks his lips again, but stares straight ahead, still waiting. It’s not enough. “I thought you… It was suggested to me that you might be. Because of how I-, well. If you were, how could I tell?” Bellamy lets his forehead hit the door in front of him. Because she’s right, how could she tell. He wanted to punch whoever had put the idea in her head in the first place. But roles reversed, he could see how someone who cared about her would want to make sure she was guarding herself.

“You’d notice,” Bellamy tells her, and it’s something he never really wanted to say to anyone, to think about a time when he was more cavalier with his magic, when he cared less about the consequences. “You’d forget things. You wouldn’t remember what I said so much as how I made you feel. You’d do things out of character, and not be able to explain why. Eventually, you’d only feel normal near me, you’d be drained and tired when we were apart. Your priorities would shift, you’d care less about the house, about the adepts and apprentices, and you’d only care about what I thought. You’d become a shell.” A face flashes across his memory, and it stabs at him. Lily. He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t known he was even using magic. And the others, the ones that Sydney had made him charm for her. A string of faces that blurred, and he hated himself for not being able to remember them all. “I’d never… I’d never do that to anyone, ever again.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispers. And then he feels the press of her hand on his back, feels her trail it down and around across his stomach, and her lean her face against his back. He breathes out a long sigh. She doesn’t normally initiate contact like this, not deliberately. They’ll bump each other in the kitchen, or grab a wrist in battle to hold each other back. But it’s not like this. Something in his stomach uncoils.

 

They are startled by a knock at the door.

“Are you guys ready yet? Miller and Wells are ready to gate teams,” Octavia calls out.

“Yeah, O, we’re ready,” Bellamy says, opening the door. He feels Clarke tense behind him, wanting to reach out and hold him back so they can finish this conversation. He smiles at her over his shoulder. It’s not forced, but it’s not the one he’d normally offer.

“See you on the other side,” he says, and it’s a promise and a plea. Clarke doesn’t smile, but there’s something in her eyes as she nods.

“See you on the other side,” she says, and he knows that when they get there, they’re going to try this conversation again.

 

 


End file.
